A Magazine of Many Arts

Before my mother died, a visit from Athenaâ”€
â€œFor beauty is nothing but the beginning of terrorâ€
â”€Rilke

There are moments: A veil is lifted and we see
through eyes of the immutable: Call it fate
or play it safe, imagine it was a waking dream;
then you evade believing in this terrible awe . . .
But inside that dream you wake, and change
is here; you saw Her face and knew Her power.

Now all the names used to describe this power
are tamed. It is a Lamb of God we see,
not the God of Abraham whose sword of change
spared Isaac, who sent the Ram of Fate
to die in Isaac’s stead. Abraham shook with awe
and Isaac lived. The iron sky was no dream.

The Ram bowed in obedience to the dream
in Abraham, that from his seed a nation’s power
would grow. And when that faith made way for awe
another question grew. Was Isaac the first to see
God’s mercy stay a father’s hand, or had fate
denied lay in wait for the Lamb? Beyond change

and bargaining prayers, nothing could change
death that was sealed in that sacrificial dream;
no deed or love availed to bend that Sonâ€™s fate . . .
They watched Him dragged and nailed to power
as Isaac might have died; that Son would see
the face hidden from Isaac and enter into awe.

The one I called She was a herald to awe.
I saw the wings of her helmet and the change
in her eyes from blue to imperious gray and did see
what she revealed. I saw the future in my dream;
a mercy then. Death came with indifferent power
and took one I loved. Events moved on with fate

seen as murals for the passing of a queen, her fate
prepared by those who rule the realm of awe
where fear and love share transcendent power . . .
And we wait as children for days that will change
our daily lives by the prescience of a dream . . .
Where rams with golden horns die so we may see

a change in those who turn blind suffering to fate . . .
The gods who dream our lives give the gift of awe
that we may see with hope, and dare to live with power.

June 2014

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